


King and Consort

by Judayre



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-07
Updated: 2018-05-06
Packaged: 2019-05-03 08:04:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 2,486
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14564619
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Judayre/pseuds/Judayre
Summary: My (incredibly late) fill of last year's Dworin Week prompts.





	1. Despair

It had been a long time since Dwalin had seen Thorin - both busy doing the things that made them money and brought food to their families. It didn’t take a second look for him to understand how it had been for Thorin. There were dark circles under the prince's eyes and he was too pale, his hair was loose and tangled - stringy where it wasn’t matted. Even his beard was longer than he kept it normally, but it was uneven and unkempt.

Something had caused Thorin to give in to the despair that ate at him. Dwalin set Óin's tea steeping and guided Thorin to the bath. That Thorin went willingly and made no protest meant he was deeply in need of someone to lean on for strength, but Thorin knew his position and there were few he would lean on.

Thorin was quiet as Dwalin bathed him, trimmed his beard, and took care of his hair. He made no protest to the tea, not even to make a face at the taste. Dwalin began to fear Thorin was catatonic until Thorin looked at him as he tucked him into bed. Dwalin smiled at him and ran his fingers lightly down Thorin's face. He kissed his brow and then left him to sleep, secure in the knowledge that Óin's tea would work.

Thorin was able to stumble out of the bedroom under his own peer. Hours had passed and Dwalin had used the time to clean and cook something. It would do Thorin good to eat and to see things at their best.

"Good morning," Dwalin greeted, holding him by the shoulders and kissing rim swayed into it, touch-starved in the best of times. Dwalin kept an arm around him into the kitchen and served out soup and bread. Thorin fed himself, but was silent through the meal.

Finally he put down his spoon and looked up. "You’ve forgotten the date," he said, voice rusty from disuse. "This is the month the dragon came. And my grandfather's head was sent to us by the Orcs in Khazad-dûm. Azanulbizar was at the start of the month, and my father disappeared in this month as well."

Dwalin opened his mouth, though he wasn’t sure what he wanted to say, but Thorin continued. "They want to crown me," he said, voice shaking, ¡it’s been so long they say there is no hope anymore. He must be dead."

Thorin's voice choked off into a sob at the word, and Dwalin could see the storm of emotion that Thorin kept down so tightly that sometimes he lost himself to it. He leaned forward to press his forehead to Thorin's, one big hand on the back of his neck, and was glad that Thorin's eyes slipped closed and his breathing steadied at the comfort.

"You’ve been doing the work all this time," Dwalin said, voice low. "Take the title that will give you more respect. When he returns, he can be your adviser and live in leisure."

Thorin snorted a laugh, the best sound ever, and his hands clutched at Dwalin's arms. "Do you think he will?" he asked. Not a question he would ask most people but he had always trusted Dwalin.

"Hope doesn’t die until you let it," he said firmly. "I will continue searching until you tell me not to."

"Keep looking," Thorin begged, hands moving up to tangle in Dwalin's beard. His eyes were smoother when he opened them, the main storm had passed. "Your king asks it of you."


	2. Parting

It was not unheard of for those who had found their hearts to be separated from one another, but it was not common. Still, times were not common for the Dwarves of Erebor, and Dwalin had to be separate from Thorin far more than either of them liked. They were both large - for Dwarves - and obviously well able to defend themselves. Traveling together among Men typically did more harm than good. And travel was necessary to provide for their families and people.

It made them appreciate what they had when they were together. They looked forward to the winter as they hadn’t when young. Every stop back to the mountains was a chance to rekindle what was between them.

And every caravan out was another loss.

The dawn sun barely lighted the window when Thorin got out of their shared bed. Dwalin peeked his eyes open to admire his lover's compact strength and beauty. But Thorin started to dress, and Dwalin groaned a protest, reaching a hand out. Thorin turned and took it, allowing himself to be pulled into Dwalin’s arms for slow morning kisses. He only protested when one of Dwalin’s hands started sneaking down his pants.

"They’ll go without me."

"You can catch up," Dwalin answered, unrepentantly.

"I wish that were true," Thorin answered with a laugh, taking Dwalin’s hands and holding them in his own. "I wouldn’t, and then we’d never be ready for winter. I won’t have my people starve because it’s hard to part from you."

Dwalin tugged and Thorin leaned down for one more kiss. "One day..." he said, as one of them always did.

"Aye," Thorin agreed, "but not today." He kissed Dwalin’s knuckles and then he didn’t turn again until he was fully dressed and ready to leave. "Be careful," he said, as though it was Dwalin who had signed on as a caravan guard. And then he was gone.

Dwalin sighed deeply and fell back against the pillows.


	3. Good Times

Dwalin and Thorin were both stubborn and opinionated. Dwalin was prone to thinking too simplistically, Thorin to complicating things needlessly. They argued frequently. But they trusted one another without limit, and loved each other as much because of their differences as in spite of them.

Which was how Dwalin found himself wading through snow drifts on the shortest day of the year with no obvious end goal. They were armed, of course, but they hadn’t come out to hunt. Thorin gave no sign that he was looking for anyone or anything. The sun was setting when they reached the cabin - an old building that hunters used to butcher their kills and when it was too late to get back to town. It was their destination, but Dwalin still couldn’t figure out why.

Thorin blew on his fingers and held them out to the banked fire to warm them. Dwalin checked for any other sign that there was already someone there, but there was nothing. The cabin's one room had a cot that was still folded against the wall, and racks for stretching hides and curing meat that were hanging from the walls or stowed among the rafters. There were blankets folded on the cot, but there always were - the people who used the cabin made sure it was stocked for when needed. There should be food in the root cellar under the trap door as well.

Thorin was smiling at him fondly when he turned. "Bring the blankets," he instructed, settling on the floor by the hearth and opening his knapsack. "We'll watch Long Night out here."

Dwalin did as he was bid, shrugging out of his outer layers and wrapping a blanket around his shoulders, but his confusion must have been apparent, because Thorin continued explaining. "The two of us together, somewhere no one will come looking for the king or his consort." He reached a hand out, pulling Dwalin down next to him. "Just the two of us."

There were packages of Dwalin’s favorite sweet pastries in Thorin’s pack and an unopened bottle of mead. Thorin settled in close and pulled Dwalin’s blanket around himself as well. The banked fire gave little light - which was part of seeing Long Night through - but it kept the cabin warm. Still, it was nice to have Thorin in his arms, feeding him pastry and stealing kisses. Despite the darkness, Dwalin felt a glow inside himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thorin has also brought lube, for which Dwalin will be quite grateful.


	4. Body

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Be aware - this is the chapter with the smut!

Dwalin thought about Thorin frequently, especially when they were apart. He thought about the fine things his beloved created - swords and axes, pots and pans, fences, even jewelry sometimes. He thought about her way Thorin filled a room just by being in it, the presence that made others so aware of him that he didn’t have to say a word to get attention. He thought about the melancholy that sometimes stole Thorin from him, troubling his mind with doubts no one shared.

But sometimes, his thoughts were simpler.

He turned his back to the fire and slid his hand into his pants, Thorin’s face appearing in his mind instantly. The blue of Thorin’s eyes, eyes that could look straight into you, eyes that showed everything he was feeling to those who knew him. And Dwalin had known them dark with passion like a fever.

And Thorin’s mouth in all its moods. Pressed in a serious line, a sword cut across his face. Smiles, shy and wonderful. Pinched with pain. Smirking at a game of insults that set his eyes alight. Spread wide around Dwalin's cock, which jumped just at the thought.

Dwalin held the image in his mind as he stroked himself, imagining it was Thorin's mouth and not his hand. Thorin's tongue swirling around the head of his cock as he looked up with eyes that were almost black with arousal, his hair a mess from where Dwalin clutched at it. He almost moaned aloud at the thought of it.

But it wasn’t just his face. Oh no. They were both built on long lines, and Thorin had a presence that could fill a room, but Dwalin was the taller one. Not much taller, but just enough so he could hold his king safe. He loved the way they fit together. Thorin had broad shoulders, a strong core from his years at the anvil. And his strength and the control he had over himself was felt in every touch. Dwalin was the only one who saw it when he lost that control, when he trembled and his grip on Dwalin’s arms or shoulders was hard enough to leave bruises.

He had ink. Some highlighted scars, brought attention to things that could have killed but hadn’t. Some were stories that were pure Thorin. On his left side, he had an oak tree, and lightning spread across his back, calling to mind the thunder he was named for.

In the right light, the gold in his nipples glittered. It was a safe way to carry a little extra, but when Dwalin got his teeth on them... No one would imagine the things that came out of Thorin’s mouth then. No one but Dwalin, who had to bite his lip so he wouldn’t be heard as he came into his hand and imagined it was into the body of his husband.


	5. Aging

Thorin and Dwalin had known one another practically from infancy, and as children they had exulted to share the changes that came with aging. They had carefully helped each other look for signs of their beards coming in. They constantly measured themselves against each other and against their height marks on the wall. They tested muscle and looked for growth elsewhere.

As adults in exile, they saw each other less frequently, but they still watched for the changes that came with aging. Dwalin watched worry lines bloom across Thorin's forehead and fine wrinkles spread from his eyes. They traced scars gotten from battles large and small. Thorin saw Dwalin’s hairline recede until he just shaved the top of his head clean.

As children, they had marveled at how mature they were becoming. The physical changes had to bring mental ones as well. As adults they knew better. Physical changes moved neither their heads nor their hearts. Dwalin smoothed the worry from Thorin's face, and Thorin inked Dwalin’s shaved head. And thy no longer tested one another's strength when they lay safely each other's arms.


	6. Illness

"You should go before you get it too."

Thorin snorted, not impressed by Dwalin’s sacrifice. He put a damp cloth across Dwalin’s forehead and sat to continue his mending. "You haven’t got a pox or a plague. You aren’t likely to die unless it’s of neglect." He slanted a look at Dwalin to express his opinion of that.

"You’ll miss the last caravan of the season," Dwalin pointed out, tense despite his aching muscles. "Don’t we need the money?"

Thorin stilled, then moved to sit on the bedside and pressed a cool hand to Dwalin's flushed cheek. "My first vow is to you," he said, voice soft and deep as thunder. "Before any of my people, even Dís and her boys. It will be tight, but we’ve been doing better the last few years. We won’t starve."

Perhaps it was the fever, but Dwalin’s tears were closer to the surface than usual. Thorin patiently wiped them all away and never left his side.


	7. Flaws and Strength

Thorin had been raised to be king of the richest and most successful kingdom in Arda. He had spent his childhood learning diplomacy. He learned the ins and outs of all of the guilds and mines, learned the secrets of Erebor's success.

All of that had changed in an instant, with his people wandering homeless on the surface with no safe place of their own. He had got that his diplomacy would be used between equals, and every time he had to appear as a well spoken beggar chipped away at his self esteem. He had to sell many of their secrets - after all, they couldn’t use them anymore and they needed the money or shelter or food more than they needed useless secrets.

Every death was his fault, his failure. Every place they had to leave, every honored elder who couldn’t be returned to stone, every mother who died in childbirth, every child who died of disease or hunger. Thorin remembered all of these and wept for them. Cities of Men tried to break him until he didn’t know if he was yet whole. Everything he got was given away, save the bare minimum, and even that he felt greedy for keeping.

It was left to Dwalin, who knew him and loved him best, to see the nobility that remained. He saw how Thorin cared for his people, putting their survival above all else where others would only work toward their own comfort. Thorin’s home was open without fail to those who needed him. He gave away more than he kept, and his people were glad of him.

He remembered the secrets and the dead, helped his people to mourn and move on. He was generous and warm, and took on the burdens of even the youngest of them as his own.

It was Dwalin’s duty as a warrior to protect his king with his own body if necessary. It was his duty as consort to see into his husband's heart and protect him from the lies he told himself.


End file.
